THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


JOHN  RANDOLPH  HAYNES 

AND  DORA  HAYNES  FOUNDATION 

COLLECTION 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

FRANK  D.  BULLARD 

AUTHOR   OF  THE   APISTOPHILON. 


THE 

Hbbey  press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 
FIFTH    AVENUE 

Xon&on  NEW  YORK  Montreal 


Copyright,  1901, 

br 

THE 

press 


1111 


TO 


WHO   INSPIRED  THEM 
I  DEDICATE  THESE  VERSES. 


785503 


BIOGRAPHICAL    NOTE. 

Frank  Dearborn  Bullard  was  born  at 
Lincoln,  Me.,  December  2*7,  1860;  grad 
uated  at  Colby  College  in  1881,  a  Phi 
Beta  Kappa.  He  graduated  from  the 
Medical  Department  of  the  University  of 
Southern  California  in  1888. 

Dr.  Bullard  taught  school  and  was  in 
structor  in  Latin  and  Greek  for  a  time. 
After  graduating  in  medicine  he  became 
Professor  of  Chemistry,  and  edited  a  Med 
ical  Journal  for  ten  years.  He  was  Presi 
dent  of  the  Los  Angeles  County  Medical 
Association  (1899);  Secretary  of  Southern 
California  Medical  Society  (1899-);  and 
Secretary  of  the  University  Club  of  Los 
Angeles.  He  is  the  author  of  several  Med 
ical  Essays,  including  a  prize  Essay,  given 

by  the   California  State  Medical  Society, 

S 


6  Biographical  Note. 

and  also  a  Poem  entitled,  "Apistophilon," 
written  in  1899.  He  married,  May  3, 
1888,  Dr.  Rose  Talbott.  A  daughter,  Helen, 
was  born  May  75,  1892. 

The  present  collection  of  poems  embraces 
his  latest  and  ablest  writings. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CUPID'S   CHALICE 9 

THE  SONG  OF  LOVE n 

To  THEE 12 

FAR  YET  NEAR 14 

SOMEBODY  ELSE  AND  I , 16 

CUPID'S  CHALICE , 18 

THE  ABSENT  ONE ! 20 

PHYLLIS 23 

WHEN  PHYLLIS  SMILES 24 

WHEN  PHYLLIS  FROWNS 25 

MINE*  EILEEN 26 

THE  WISH 28 

MY  KEEPSAKE 29 

MY  BELOVED 31 

SLEEP,  MY  LOVE,  SLEEP 33 

MY  SWEETHEART 35 


8  Contents. 

PAGE 

OLD  WINE  OF  SABINE  VINTAGE 39 

TORQUATUS 41 

A  WINTER  WINE  SONG 44 

LEUCONOE , 47 

OLD  MASSIC  WINE 48 

THE  REPENTANT , 50 

CHLOE 52 

SIMPLICITY 53 

MIXED  WINE.  ,•, 55 

A  SIP  FROM  CATULLUS — SIRMIO 57 

A  LANDSCAPE  MUSING 59 

LAWTON 61 

THE  WHITE  MAN'S  BURDEN 62 

THE  ANGELUS 65 

HEREDITY,.,              68 


Cupto'6  Cbalice, 


CUPID'S   CHALICE. 


THE  SONG  OF  LOVE. 

THERE  is  a  song  as  yet  unsung 

A  voice  will    sing   somewhere,    some- 
when, 

There  is  a  thought  beyond  our  ken, 
There  is  a  tune  unknown  to  tongue 
With  gems  of  silv'ry  sweetness  hung 

That  shall  enchant  the  hearts  of  men. 

Ah,  would  such  thoughts  inspired  my 

pen, 
And  to  that  tune  my  lyre  were  strung ! 

But  I  must  be  content  to  plod, 
I  dare  not  dream  to  soar  above, 

But  walk  the  paths  my  fathers  trod 
Thro'  dusty  plain  and  shady  grove, 

And  yet  my  heart  gives  thanks  to  God, 
Since  I  may  sing  the  song  of  Love. 


ii 


12  Cupid's  Chalice. 


TO    THEE. 

COULD  I  but  paint  with  master  hand 
In  blended  hues  subjects  as  grand 
As  any  artist  in  the  land, 
I'd  paint  for  thee. 

With  chisel  deft  could  I  but  trace 
The  human  form  with  pleasing  grace, 
And  from  still  marble  wake  a  face, 
I'd  carve  for  thee. 

Could  I  but  sing,  with  voice  as  clear 
As  silver  bell  to  willing  ear, 
A  song  o'ercharged  with  loving  cheer, 
I'd  sing  for  thee. 

Could  I  but  write  a  poem  sweet 
So  that  the  world  my  name  would  greet, 
I'd  lay  my  laurels  at  thy  feet, 
I'd  write  for  thee. 


To  Thee.  13 

To  paint,  or  carve,  or  sing,  or  write 
Lies  not  in  me.     Tis  my  delight 
To  love  but  thee  ;  by  day,  by  night 
I  love  but  thee. 


14  Cupid's  Chalice. 


FAR  YET  NEAR. 

"  THOU  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near  " 
Though  miles  away  thy  body  be, 
Still  dwells  thy  spirit  e'er  with  me. 

The  Sun  that  kisses  thee,  my  dear, 
Far  over  land  or  over  sea, 
Where  e'er  thou  art,  caresses  me, 

Thou  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 

Thou  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near, 

The  stars  that  gem  those  distant  skies, 
Draw  lustre  from  thy  love-lit  eyes, 

To  shine  upon  me  waiting  here. 
The  moon  its  nightly  journey  plies, 
To  bear  to  me  thy  whispered  sighs, 

Thou  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 

Thou  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near  ; 
From  birth  of  morning's  lucent  ray, 
Till  ev'ning  lulls  the  drowsy  day, 


Far  Yet  Near.  15 

Thy  sunshine   makes  my  pathway  clear. 
And  when  to  sleep  myself  I  lay, 
Thy  spirit  watches  till  the  day  ; 

Thou  art  so  far,  and  yet  so  near. 


16  Cupid's  Chalice. 


SOMEBODY  ELSE  AND  I. 

ONLY  the  man  in  the  moon  saw  us  that 

night, 

From  Diana's  bow  on  high, 
Only    the    man  in   the    moon  heard   us 

aright, 
Save  somebody  else  and  I. 

And  our  joy  was  complete  as  our  love  we 
told, 

True  love  that  never  can  die, 
Just  as  in  harmony  sweet  rang  bells  of  old, 

Chimed  somebody  else  and  I. 

Thro'  the  gloomy  sorrows  and  the  joys  of 

life 

As  the  garnered  years  roll  by, 
There'll  be  many  glad  morrows,  when  man 

and  wife 
Are  somebody  else  and  I. 


Somebody  Else  and  I.  17 

When  to  the  world's  weary  way  we've  said 

"  Good  night," 
And  calmly  lie  down  to  die, 
"Good  morning"  we'll   say  in  Heaven's 

own  light, 
My  somebody  else  and  I. 

But  be  it  my  fate  that  her  spirit  hath  flown, 
Before  I've  said  the  "  Good-by," 

At  the  Heavenly  gate  I'll  not  be  alone, 
Somebody  else  will  be  nigh  ! 


1 8  Cupid's  Chalice. 


CUPID'S  CHALICE .» 

AH,  give  me  Love  that  ever  smiling  gleams, 
That  from  the  Dark  this  cheerless  world 

redeems  ! 

And  may  my  Moon  of  Love  forget  to  wane 
And  light  me  ever  with  its  lambent  beams. 

Love  bears  a  fruit  far  sweeter  than  the 

Vine, 

Love  brews  a  nectar  that  surpasses  Wine. 
But  who  can  tell  the  Soul's  o'erwhelming 

bliss 
When  Vine  and  Love  the  willing  heart 

entwine  ? 

How    cling   the    tendrils  of   their   fond 

caress 
As  to  the  lips  the  luscious  cup  they  press  ! 

*  From  the  Apistophilon. 


Cupid's  Chalice.  19 

Ah,  I  could  drink  and  drain  the  vintage 

dry 
And  die  inarms  of  loving  tenderness! 

The  wine  that  sparkles  and  the  merry  song, 
The  Queen  of  Love  that  rules  the  happy 

throng, 

The  dainty  Dancers  and  the  pleasing  play 
All  sweets  of  life — are  all  such  Pleasures 

wrong  ? 

And  why  need  Virtue  wear  so  sour  a 
mien? 

And  cry — when  Pleasures  come —  "  Un 
clean,  Unclean"  ? 

The  sin  of  Pleasure  is  excess  alone, 

'Tis  the  abuse  that  doth  the  man  demean. 


20  Cupid's  Chalice. 


THE  ABSENT  ONE. 

O  ROSE,  my  darling  and  my  pride, 
Ever  my  sweetheart  e'er  my  bride, 
If  weal  or  woe  my  life  betide, 
I  love  you. 

When  to  my  face  you  softly  press 
Your  cheek  to  mine  in  fond  caress, 
In  loving  heart-felt  tenderness, 
I  love  you. 

The  sweetest  cup  of  earthly  bliss 
Is  in  your  dear  and  loving  kiss, 
A  nectar  now  I  sadly  miss, 
My  darling. 

Each  day  for  me  the  budding  morn 
Blooms  all  in  vain  ;  I  am  forlorn 
Unless  your  face  the  day  adorn, 
My  darling. 


The  Absent  One.  21 

The  full  blown  day  no  fragrance  sheds, 
The  sun  with  somber  pall  o'er-spreads 
The  dismal  sky  above  our  heads, 
Without  you. 

The  nodding  leaves  of  ev'ning  glow, 
Like  funeral  marches  sad  and  slow, 
Requiem  o'er  my  pleasure  show 
Without  you. 

The  drooping  petals  of  the  night 
Enshroud  as  with  a  darksome  blight 
My  happiness  ;  Ah,  sad  the  plight 
Without  you. 

The  livelong  day  is  sad  and  drear, 
Each  gloomy  hour  distills  a  tear, 
Each  tardy  week  becomes  a  year 
Without  you. 

But  bright  the  budding  morn  will  bloom, 
And  sweet  the  fragrance  of  the  noon, 
The  ev'ning  leaves  will  dance  in  tune, 
My  darling. 


22  Cupid's  Chalice. 

The  drooping  petals  of  the  night 
Will  blossom  fresh  from  pure  delight 
When  you  come  home  ;  all  will  be  light, 
My  darling. 


Phyllis.  23 


PHYLLIS. 

CARE  reft  and  burden  free, 

Garlanded  with  roses  fair, 

Golden  crowned  with  wanton  hair — 
Who  could  keep  from  loving  thee, 
Phyllis,  my  darling  ? 

Care  reft  and  burden  free 

Were  my  soul,  did  it  but  know 
Thro'  summer  sun  and  winter  snow 

Thou  wouldst  keep  on  loving  me, 
Phyllis,  my  darling. 

- 


24  Cupid's  Chalice. 


WHEN  PHYLLIS  SMILES. 

WHEN  Phyllis  smiles  my  sky  is  clear, 
Though  dark  without  the  clouds  appear 
And  hoarse  the  thunders  of  the  gale 
Affright  men's  hearts  on  hill  and  dale 
My  soul  within  is  full  of  cheer. 

The  haven  of  my  heart  is  here 
My  bark  lies  anchored  at  the  pier, 
When  Phyllis  smiles. 

Tho'  angry  waves  their  crests  may  rear 
My  soul  will  scoff  at  ev'ry  fear, 
If  aught  for  her  I  may  avail 
With  creening  mpst  and  creaking  sail 
And  sturdy  heart  I'll  seaward  steer, 
When  Phyllis  smiles. 


When  Phyllis  Frowns.  25 


WHEN  PHYLLIS  FROWNS. 

WHEN  Phyllis  frowns  my  soul's  o'ercast, 
My  heart  is  chilled  with  biting  blast, 
Though  brightest  sunshine  fills  the  air 
And  trilling  birds  their  joy  declare, 
The  sweets  of  life  for  me  are  passed. 

Upon  a  sea  of  trouble  cast 
My  bark's  afloat  without  a  mast, 
When  Phyllis  frowns. 

No  more  the  future  I  forecast, 
Nor  longer  wish  that  life  may  last, 
But  burdened  with  a  weight  of  care 
I  sink  beneath  a  dark  despair, 
All  other  sorrows  are  surpassed, 
When  Phyllis  frowns. 


26  Cupid's  Chalice. 


MINE  EILEEN. 

I'VE  a  poem  in  my  heart, 

Mine  Eileen, 
It  lies  hid  beyond  my  art, 

Mine  Eileen, 

It  scarce  sees  the  light  of  day, 
When  it  laughs  and  flits  away, 
It's  a  coy  and  bashful  poem, 

Mine  Eileen. 

CHORUS: 

It's  an  elfin  bashful  poem, 

Mine  Eileen, 
It's  a  dainty  lovely  poem, 

Mine  Eileen, 

Dreaming,  waking,  it  is  there, 
But  alas,  I  cannot  share, 
That  wary  little  poem, 

Mine  Eileen. 

It  oft  grieves  my  heart  full  sore, 
Mine  Eileen, 


Mine  Eileen.  27 

That  I  cannot  hold  it  more, 

Mine  Eileen, 

For  its  form  I  cannot  clasp, 
And  the  words  I  cannot  grasp, 
Of  that  will-o'-wisp  like  poem, 

Mine  Eileen. 

When  I  try  to  write  it  down, 

Mine  Eileen. 
Its  shadowy  words  have  flown, 

Mine  Eileen. 

And  although  I  love  thee  well, 
E'en  to  thee  I  cannot  tell 
That  haunting  little  poem, 

Mine  Eileen. 

Oft  it  whispers  in  the  night, 

Mine  Eileen, 
With  its  form  half-veiled  from  sight, 

Mine  Eileen, 

Then  it  leaves  me  sweetly  sad, 
For  I  cannot  make  thee  glad, 
With  that  airy  sprite-like  poem 

Mine  Eileen. 


28  Cupid's  Chalice. 


THE  WISH. 

LESSING. 

WHEN  I  lovely  sights  to  find, 

'Neath  cool  and  shady  Lindens  wind, 

Peeping  up  and  down, 
And  a  homely  maid  I  see, 
Would  I  sudden  blind  to  be. 

When  I  lovely  sights  to  find, 
'Neath  cool  and  shady  Lindens  wind, 

Peeping  up  and  down, 
And  a  pretty  maid  I  see, 
Nothing  but  an  eye  I'd  be. 


My  Keepsake.  29 


MY    KEEPSAKE. 

IN  this  world  so  bleak  and  dreary, 
Man  is  often  times  a-weary, 

Weary  of  its  strife  and  lore, 
If  he  have  not  for  him  smiling, 
Some  sweet  face  his  time  beguiling, 

He  is  sad,  ah,  evermore  ! 

I've  a  face  within  my  pocket, 
Fast  enclosed  within  a  locket, 

May  I  keep  it  evermore ! 
As  a  keepsake  to  be  given 
Of  a  love,  that  under  heaven 

Shall  diminish  nevermore ! 

Often  on  that  face  I  ponder, 
And  as  often  fondly  wonder, 

If  it  knows  me  evermore. 
Wonder  if  my  thoughts  it's  reading, 
Wonder  if  my  wishes  heeding, 

As  I  pace  my  chamber  floor. 


3o  Cupid's  Chalice. 

When  the  evening  stars  are  glistening, 
When  the  zephyrs  they  are  listening, 

Gaze  I  on  it  evermore. 
When  from  sleep  I  am  awaking, 
When  the  morning  light  is  breaking, 

Look  I  on  it  evermore. 

Ah,  that  face  so  kind  and  pleasant, 
Fit  for  king  or  fit  for  peasant, 

Fit  for  me  for  evermore! 
May  I  love,  protect  and  cherish, 
Yes,  and  rather  may  I  perish 

Than  forget  it  evermore ! 

Whose  the  face?  O  gently  whisper 
Lest  perchance  the  evening  vesper 

Should  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
The  sweet  face  within  the  locket 
Lying  in  my  warm  vest  pocket 

Is  my  watch  face — nothing  more! 


My  Beloved.  31 


MY  BELOVED. 

HER  smile  is  like  the  dawn  of  day 

That  follows  sable  night: 
It  sparkles  in  a  winsome  way, 
Her  smile  is  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
It  drives  Life's  Darkness  all  away, 
And  puts  dull  Care  to  flight — 
Her  smile  is  like  the  dawn  of  day 
That  follows  sable  night. 

Her  love  is  like  the  golden  beam 

That  woos  the  dainty  flowers. 
(There  could  not  be  a  sweeter  theme.) 
Her  love  is  like  the  golden  beam, 
My  heart  basks  in  its  witching  gleam 

Entranced  for  happy  hours — 
Her  love  is  like  the  golden  beam 
That  woos  the  dainty  flowers. 

Her  lips  are  ruby  portals  fair, 
The  gates  to  Paradise. 


32  Cupid's  Chalice. 

(No  other  can  with  her  compare.) 
Her  lips  are  ruby  portals  fair, 
For  greater  bliss  I  do  not  care, 

My  Eden  in  them  lies — 
Her  lips  are  ruby  portals  fair 

The  gates  to  Paradise. 


Sleep,  My  Love,  Sleep.  33 


SLEEP,  MY  LOVE,  SLEEP. 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep, 
The  winds  that  now  so  softly  croon 

For  me,  will  keep 
The  mellow  music  of  their  tune 
To  lull  thee  into  dreamland  soon, 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep. 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep, 
The  stars  that  now  so  brightly  shine 

For  me,  which  reap 
Their  lustre  from  those  eyes  of  thine, 
Shall  feed  the  fire  of  love  in  mine, 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep. 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep, 
The  moon  that  so  refulgent  gleams 

For  me,  will  keep 
The  lambent  splendor  of  its  beams 
To  light  thee  thro'  the  land  of  dreams, 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep. 


34  Cupid's  Chalice. 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep, 
Till  thro'  the  portals  of  the  morn 

The  sun  shall  peep 
From  dewy  bed  of  roses  drawn 
To  light  the  day  thou  shalt  adorn, 

Sleep,  my  love,  sleep. 


My  Sweetheart.  35 


MY  SWEETHEART. 

WHEN  I'm  alone  life's  song  is  drear, 
A  dirge  that  drones  its  doleful  feet 
In  time  to  heart  with  sorry  beat, 
A  song  without  a  note  of  cheer, 
A  tune  that  grates  upon  the  ear 
Like  jangling  noises  of  the  street. 
When  I'm  alone  sad  strains  are  meet 
And  discords  seem  more  fit  to  hear. 
But  life  is  purest  melody 

Divinest  music  ever  heard, 
A  glad  sweet  song  of  harmony, 

A  carol  of  a  happy  bird, 
If  but  her  treble  chimes  with  me 
To  sing  of  love— man's  dearest  word. 


Mine  of  Sabine  tDintage, 


(Read  at  the  First  Annual  Meeting  of  the  University 
Club  of  Los  Angeles.) 


37-38 


Old  Wine  of  Sabine  Vintage.      39 


OLD  WINE 

OF   SABINE   VINTAGE. 

He  who  would  ride  the  Muses'  winged 
steed 

Must  take  good  care  if  he  would  fain  suc 
ceed. 

To  safely  make  a  long  or  lofty  flight 

He  first  had  better  choose  a  modest  speed. 

E'en   when  he  thinks  he  has  the   horse 

controlled, 

He'll  find  that  Pegasus  is  hard  to  hold. 
And  like  a  bucking  broncho  takes  delight 
In  throwing  would-be  poets,  I  am  told. 

And  then  before  so  wise  an  audience 
I  justly  feel  a  sort  of  diffidence 
In  showing  off  my  scarcely  proven  powers, 
I'd  rather  as  an  alias  commence. 


4O  Cupid's  Chalice. 

So  I  called  up  the  laurel  bearing  bard, 
The  Roman  Horace— whom  we  all  regard 
The  sweetest  singer  of  the  men  of  Rome — 
And   bade  him  sing,  and  this  is  what  I 
heard. 


Torquatus.  41 


TORQUATUS. 

HORACE,  IV.,  7. 

THE  snows  have  fled,  the  fields  are  gowned 
anew, 

The  verdant  foliage  bedecks  the  trees, 
The  rivers  gently  glide,  the  Graces  too 

Lead  off  the  dances  on  the  grassy  leas. 

Yet  this  shall  not  for  e'er  and  e'er  abide. 

The  hour  that  hastens  on  the  happy  day, 
The  fleeting  year,  the  ebb  of  Eventide 

All  signify  all  things  shall  pass  away. 

The  cold  is  softened  by  the   breath  of 

Spring, 
And   Summer  follows  close  upon  the 

trail, 
She  dies,  the    harvest    fruitful  Autumn 

brings, 

And  sluggish  Winter  e'er  repeats  the 
tale, 


42  Cupid's  Chalice. 

The   quick  revolving  moon   repairs    her 

wane ; 
But   we— when  we   descend   into   the 

glades 

Where  be  the  dead  both  pious  and  pro 
fane — 

We  are  but   dust,  we  are  but  empty 
shades. 

Who  knows  forsooth  the  gods  above  will 

add 

To-morrow  to  the  Calends  of  To-day  ? 
The  more  wealth  used  to  make  the  spirit 

glad 
So  much  the  less  a  greedy  heir  to  pay  ! 

When  once,  Torquatus  mine,  you  shall  be 

dead, 
And  judgment  august  shall  be  passed 

on  you, 

Nor  rank,  nor  eloquence,  nor  worth  inbred 
Nor  wealth  can  e'er  the  doors  of  Death 
undo. 


Torquatus.  43 

Theseus  could  not  the  chains  of    Lethe 
break 

That  fettered  fast  his  dear  Pirithb'us, 
Not  even  for  the  great  Diana's  sake 

Could  Hades  free  the  chaste  Hippolytus. 

"  THIS  theme  "  said  I,  "  is  hardly  apropos, 
An  after-dinner  speech  should  have  a 

mellow  flow." 
"  All  right,"  said  he,  "  You  call  for  my 

long  suit, 
Here  is  an  ode  I  think  that  is  not  slow." 


44  Cupid's  Chalice. 


A  WINTER  WINE  SONG. 

HORACE,    I.,  9. 

SORACTE  is  shimmering 

All  white  with  driven  snow, 

The  burdened  trees  are  bending 
Their  crystalled  branches  low, 

And  frigid  frost  congealing 
Muffles  the  river's  flow. 

Pile  high  the  blazing  billets 

Upon  the  genial  hearth 
To  melt  the  cold  of  Winter ; 

Then  bring  the  flagon  forth 
Of  four-year  Sabine  vintage 

The  warming  wine  of  mirth. 

Leave  to  the  gods  the  storm  winds 
That  lash  the  foaming  seas, 

Leave  to  the  gods  the  zephyrs 
That  woo  the  wanton  trees; 


A  Winter  Wine  Song.  45 

They'll  keep  the  world  a-going 
And  you  can  take  your  ease ! 


Ask  not  then  of  the  morrow, 

Be  merry  for  to-day, 
And  take  whate'er  good  fortune 

That  chance  puts  in  your  way ; 
Feast  on  the  sweets  of  loving 

While  Cupid  says  you  may  ! 

For  crabbed  age  is  coming, 

(It  won't  be  very  long) 
So,  on  then  with  the  dancing, 

Sing  loud  your  merry  song, 
And  keep  the  trysts  of  ev'ning, 

For  which  the  maidens  long. 

For  then  the  soft  breathed  whispers, 
The  coy  and  gentle  laugh 

Reveal  the  maid  in  hiding 

(She  gives  you  tempting  chaff), 

Be  bold  and  take  the  forfeit 
And  deep  the  love-cup  quaff, 


46  Cupid's  Chalice. 

"  SOME  of  the  Club  are  now  no  longer 

boys, 
Nor  love  to  linger  when  the  maids  are 

coy," 
Cried  doubting  Horace,  "  If  there  be  such 

men 

Perhaps  they'll  see  in  this  a  spark  of 
joy." 


Leuconoe.  47 


LEUCONOE. 

HORACE,  I.,  II. 

SEARCH  not  the  Chaldic  auguries  to  see 
What  length  of  Life  be  granted  you  or 

me, 
To  know  such  things  comes  not  within 

our  right. 

Tis  better  far  to  bear  what  is  to  be. 
But  be  this  year  the  last  we  e'er  shall 

know, 

If  time  is  brief,  the  wine  should  freer  flow, 
Curtail  your  hopes — the  end  may  be  to 
night. 
Enjoy  To- Day  and  let  To-morrow  go. 

So  when  to-night  you  make  the  glasses 

ring, 

And  drink  the  toasts  as  merrily  you  sing, 
Remember  that  fine  old  Massic  wine 
In  Horace's  day  was  just  the  proper  thing. 


48  Cupid's  Chalice. 


OLD  MASSIC  WINE. 

HORACE,  III.,  21. 

O  GOODLY  wine  as  one  could  ask 
That  years  hath  mellowed  in  the  cask, 
If  plaint  or  broil  or  love  or  jest, 
Or  gentle  sleep  become  thy  guest, 

Be  thou  of  choicest  Massic  brand, 
Worthy  of  any  time  or  land, 
Descend  to-day  from  thy  high  shrine 
Corvinus  gets  my  choicest  wrine. 

Though  he  be  steeped  in  classic  lore 
My  Massic  he  cannot  abhor. 
E'en  stern  old  Cato  it  is  said 
Looked  on  the  wine  when  it  was  red. 

To  sluggish  wit  thou  art  a  spur 
Which  otherwise  might  never  stir. 
If  merry  Bacchus  help  thee  out 
The  deepest  plot  goes  up  the  spout ! 


Old  Massic  Wine.  49 

To  anxious  minds  thou  givest  hope, 
Who  drinks  of  thee  can  never  mope, 
The  poor  who  quaff  thy  potent  cup, 
No  longer  fear  the  watchful  "  cop." 

With  thee  one  gets  his  money's  worth! 
Let  wine  and  women,  love  and  mirth 
Prolong  the  pleasures  of  the  night 
Till  Phoebus  puts  the  stars  to  flight. 

"This  sentiment  may  please  the  most  of 

men 

But  ministers  can  hardly  say  amen." 
"  I  have  some  verses  written  for  the  cloth— 
A  few  I  keep  to  please  the  upper  ten." 


50  Cupid's  Chalice. 


THE  REPENTANT. 

HORACE,  I.,  34. 

A  FOOL  mad  with  philosophy 
I  left  the  old  theology 

Nor  sought  the  fanes  at  all, 
But  now  my  bark  I  backward  steer, 
The  gods  again  I  will  revere, 

And  on  their  names  111  call. 

For  Jove  that  wields  the  thunder-bolt 
My  vaunting  spirit  gave  a  jolt 

With  all  too  close  a  flash  ; 
The  sluggish  earth,  the  wand'ring  rills, 
The  gates  of  hell,  the  tow'ring  hills, 

All  trembled  at  the  crash. 

For  God  can  high  the  lowly  raise, 
The  mighty  he  can  low  debase, 
The  hidden  bring  to  light. 


The  Repentant.  51 

For  greedy  Fortune  plucks  the  plume 
From  one  to  deck  another,  whom 
To  please  is  her  delight. 

"  But  tell  me,  Horace,  how  you  left  the 
ladies 

You  loved  so  here.  Are  they  the  same  in 
Hades  ? " 

The  poet  shrugged  his  shoulder  and  ex 
claimed, 

"  Chloe's  just  the  same,  tho'  she  a  shade 
is." 


52  Cupid's  Chalice. 


CHLOE. 

HORACE,    III.,    26. 

TILL  now  a  beau  girls  doted  on, 
Successful  love  I  carried  on, 

Till  now  I  warred  with  glory  ; 
Now  sea-born  Venus  has  my  arms, 
My  lyre  too  has  lost  its  charms, 

I  sing  another  story. 

Torch,  bar  and  bows  here  useless  lie, 
That  did  the  stoutest  doors  defy, 

No  longer  in  employ. 
Goddess  of  love  from  Cyprus'  isle, 
With  high  drawn  lash  in  proper  style 

Strike  once  the  haughty  Chloe! 

And  as  I  chatted  with  my  honored  guest, 
There  came  a  boy  from   Hades  in  post 

haste, 
With  linden  garlands  decked,  to  bring  the 

poet 
Back  to  Hell,  departing  he  said — in  jest: 


Simplicity.  53 


SIMPLICITY. 

HORACE,  I.,  38. 

BOY,  Persian  finery  I  disdain, 
The  crown  of  Linden  gives  me  pain, 
Seek  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  attain 
The  last  rose  of  summer. 

With  myrtle  plain  thy  brows  entwine, 
With  myrtle  wreaths  encircle  mine, 
Then  pour  for  me  beneath  this  vine, 
A  royal  bumper. 


ss-s6 


Sirmio.  57 


SIRMIO. 

CATULLUS. 

SIRMIO,  gem  of  islets  and  islands 
The  God  of  the  sea  upholds  in  his  hand, 

In  lucent  lake  or  expanse  of  ocean, 
How  happy  am  I  to  visit  thy  land! 

Scarce  yet  am  I  sure  I've  really  quitted 

Etythynian  fields  or  Thunia's  lair, 
Scarce  thinking  such  joy  for  me  is  per 
mitted, 

For  what  is  sweeter  than  freedom  from 
care. 

When  wearied  with  the  toil  of  the  journey 
The  burden  is  lost  at  our  own  hearth 
stone, 
We  rest  on  the  couch  long  craved  and 

downy — 
This  only  such  toils  can  fully  atone. 


58  Cupid's  Chalice. 

Hail  loved  isle,  and  rejoice  in  thy  master 
And  laugh,  ye  elfs,  with  the  laughter  of 

home. 
Rejoice,  fair  lake,  make  the  waves  dance 

faster 

And    laugh,    merry  brooks,   till    your 
courses  foam. 


A  Landscape  Musing.  59 


A  LANDSCAPE  MUSING. 

COME  stroll  with  me  on  wooded  hill, 
And  drink  with  me  from  nature's  rill 
A  draft  as  sparkling  clear  and  sweet 
As  ever  stayed  a  pilgrim's  feet, 
Then  look  you  down  the  silent  vale 
O'er  winding  brook,  past  mountain  pale, 
And  as  the  scenes  before  us  roll 
Tell  me  their  whispers  to  the  soul. 

The  sparkling  spring,  the  laughing  rill, 
The  babbling  brook  beneath  the  hill, 
The  sinuous  stream,  that  softly  glides 
Until  the  vale  its  vista  hides, 
With  fruit  and  flower  bedeck  the  land, 
Which  else  would  scorch  with  desert  sand 
Nor  know  they  came  from  mountain  pale 
And  seek  the  sea  beyond  the  vale. 

Across  the  stream  there  rises  still 
Like  turrets  old,  each  tow'ring  hill, 
Yet  farther  back  in  outline  dim 


60  Cupid's  Chalice. 

Fades  faintly  blue  a  mountain's  brim, 
And  like  a  garland  on  its  brow 
Rest  fleecy  clouds,  and  even  now, 
While  falling  mists  bedim  the  gleam, 
The  panorama  seems  a  dream. 

It  pictures  life  in  emblenjs  true 
Set  in  a  frame  of  mountain  blue, 
So  ends  life's  stream  in  misty  haze, 
So  runs  life's  stream  in  winding  maze, 
Hedged  in  by  hills  of  frowning  height 
With  neither  source  nor  end  in  sight, 
Nor  knows  it  came  from  nature's  womb 
And  seeks  it  home  beyond  the  tomb. 

The  clouds  that  cap  yon  hazy  mount 
In  far  off  sea  had  misty  fount, 
And  wafted  back  by  gentle  wind 
The  selfsame  waters  there  we  find. 
Thus  source  and  end  are  still  the  same 
Parts   of   one   whole  though    changed  in 

name. 

So  flows  the  soul  beyond  the  sight, 
And  seeks  the  sea  whence  came  its  might. 


Lawton.  61 


LAWTON. 

THE  God  of  Battles,  Lord  of  Hosts 

Has  called  the  hero's  soul, 
The  silver  cord  of  life  is  loosed 

And  broke  the  golden  bowl, 
The  pitcher's  shattered  at  the  font— 
A  heart  is  stilled  that  naught  could  daunt. 

"A  heart  is  stilled  that  naught  could  daunt" 
Fame  writes  upon  her  scroll. 

The  angel  reaper  well  may  vaunt 
To  conquer  such  a  soul, 

But  such  a  one  needs  not  our  boasts, 

He  came  from  Thee,  Lord  God  of  Hosts. 

He  came  from  Thee,  Lord  God  of  Hosts, 

To  Thee  must  he  return, 
His  body  fell  on  foreign  coasts, 

His  spirit  knows  no  urn, 
No  nobler  judgment  need  man  want — 
A  heart  is  stilled  that  naught  could  daunt. 


62  Cupid's  Chalice. 


THE  WHITE  MAN'S  BURDEN. 

TAKE  up  the  White  Man's  burden 

That  Cant  and  Custom  lay 
With  heavy  weight  upon  us, 

Each  long  and  weary  day. 
Strike  off  the  cruel  shackles 

By  which  shrewd  men  enchain 
The  plain  and  poorer  people  ; 

Such  were  the  best  refrain. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 

The  cursed  cross  of  Creed 
That  crucifies  our  manhood 

To  satisfy  its  need, 
That  bids  our  sons  and  daughters 

To  play  a  craven  part. 
Break  down  the  bars  of  dogma, 

Give  freedom  to  the  heart. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 
His  unrequited  toil, 


The  White  Man's  Burden.        63 

His  fruit  of  labor  stolen, 

His  marrow  aching  moil. 

List  to  the  angry  murmur, 

The  plaintive  wail  of  Want, 

The  sick'ning  cry  of  Hunger, 
All  hollow-eyed  and  gaunt. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 

A  burden  born  of  Shame, 
That  makes  the  land  of  Freedom 

A  mad  and  mocking  name. 
Go  brand  that  wretched  monster, 

And  sear  with  Vengeance  raw, 
Who  fain  would  bribe  a  Nation 

To  make  Injustice  law. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 

The  savage  strife  for  self, 
That  rights  a  shameless  battle, 

And  wars  for  paltry  pelf, 
That  recks  not  for  its  honor  ; 

How  dastard  be  the  deed 
That  prostitutes  its  Virtue 

To  glut  unholy  greed ! 


64  Cupid's  Chalice. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 

Piled  high  by  tireless  Fate, 
Without  a  moment's  respite 

From  early  until  late  ; 
For  man  is  heavy  laden 

And  cinched  by  heartless  Trusts 
That  kill  all  competition 

And  grind  men  into  dust. 

Take  up  the  White  Man's  burden, 

Nor  let  it  e'er  again 
Bow  down  the  weary  shoulders 

Of  our  ill-fated  kin. 
Then  to  the  car  of  Progress 

The  steeds  of  Reason  yoke, 
To  make  our  people,  Kipling, 

A  free  and  happy  folk. 


The  Angelus.  65 


THE  ANGELUS. 

Bow  the  head,  in  reverent  silence  bow, 
The  Angelus  is  softly  ringing  now  ; 
The  Twilight  paints  the  Ev'ning's  Aureole, 
The  day  is  hushed,  bow  your  spirit  low. 

What  though  the  weary  toil-worn  shoul 
ders  groan, 

What  though  the  crushed  and  burdened 
spirit  moan, 

What  though  Another  reap  what  you  have 
sown  ? 

Heed  not,  list  to  the  Angelus  alone. 

What  if  your  Masters  long  your  rights  have 

trod. 
Are  not  the  Powers  that  be,  ordained  of 

God? 

Made  He  not  them  of  gold  and  you  of  clod? 
Bow  low  the  head,  and  pass  beneath  their 

rod. 
5 


66  Cupid's  Chalice. 

Though  you  be  clad  in  mean  and  tattered 

frock 
And   they  with  wool,    shorn  from  your 

choicest  flock, 

If  you  but  dare  against  the  law  to  mock, 
Saint  Peter  will  the  gate  of  heaven  lock. 


The  law's  for  those  that  tire  with  daily 
toil, 

For  those  whose  marrow  aches  with  heavy 
moil, 

For  those  whose  hands  work  in  the  honest 
soil, 

Not  for  the  wretch  that  millions  can  de 
spoil. 


What  though  your  bruised  and  wounded 

feet  should  bleed, 

While  Dives  dashes  by  upon  his  steed  ? 
In  Heaven  for  water  he  will  vainly  plead, 
Limp  lamely  on,  and  trust  a  priest-born 
creed. 


The  Angelus.  67 

What  if  the  world  laughs  at  your  childish 

trust, 

What  if  the  sage  looks  on  in  sad  disgust, 
What  if  from  feasts  your  lords  have  grown 

robust, 
Be  thankful  if  they  leave  you  still  a  crust! 

Remember  that  this  is  the  Curse  of  Sin; 
With  sweaty  brow  you  must  a  living  win. 
Then  labor  on  with  all  your  lowly  kin, 
God  sent  you  toil  your  hearts  to  discipline. 

Bow  the  head,  in  reverent  silence  bow, 
The  Angelus  is  softly  ringing  now, 
The  Twilight  paints  the  Ev'ning's  Aureole, 
The  day  is  hushed,  bow  your  spirit  low. 


68  Cupid's  Chalice. 


HEREDITY* 

WITHOUT  our  will  we  into  life  were  thrust, 
Against  our  wish  we  die  and  turn  to  dust, 
Ourselves,  our  thoughts,  our  hopes,  beliefs, 

and  fears 
Are  restless  children  of  a  mighty  Must. 

As  we  have  sown,  so  shall  we  also  reap. 

So  shall  our  children  laugh  or  shall  they 
weep. 

We  garner  what  our  fathers  long  have 
strewn, 

For  deeds,  like  seeds,  a  close,  resem 
blance  keep. 

Five  sextants  of  the  Round  of  life  are  ruled 
By  Nature,    and  the  sixth  by  Nurture's 
schooled. 

*From  The  Apistophilon. 


Heredity.  69 

Heredity  transmits  from  sire  to  son 
The  trends  and  traits  that  usage  stronger 
molds. 

Strive   e'er  so  hard  with  e'er  so  patient 

skill 

To  make  your  world  to  answer  to  your  will, 
But  little  will  your  efforts  change  the  Must, 
Relentless  Fate  will  shape  the  outcome 

still. 

And  yet  that  Little  makes  the  All  of  gain, 
And  breeds  a  better  brawn  and  brighter 

brain. 

To-day's  "  I  will  "  to-morrow  is  "  I  must," 
A  self- wrought  link  in  Life's  predestined 

chain. 

There  blows  no  breeze  but  scatters  far  the 

down, 
That  shall  some  distant  field  with  verdure 

gown, 

Be  harvest  weed  or  plant,  the  crop  is  sure. 
And  thus  our  deeds  are  ever  widely  sown. 


7o 


Cupid's  Chalice. 


Then  cultivate   the  plants  and    cut  the 

weeds, 
And  grow  a  crop  of  Worth  from  noble 

deeds, 

So  when  the  Harvest  of  our  Life  is  gleaned 
The  World  shall  profit,  for  we  sowed  good 

seeds. 


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